


secret little rendezvous

by pendules



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, POV Outsider, Secret Relationship, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I dreamt him a phone for <i>emergencies</i>," Ronan cuts in before he can reply.</p><p>"Are <i>booty calls</i> technically classified as <i>emergencies</i>, Ronan?"</p><p>"Well. Depends, really," he says, shrugging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	secret little rendezvous

Gansey doesn't even notice the buzzing until it feels like it's echoing around inside his brain. Eventually, it's so irritating that he actually shuts the rare and ancient and painfully-acquired tome he's been lost in for six hours and gets up to find the source of the dreadful noise.

It's Ronan's phone, and it's sitting on his own desk chair, but not like it's been discarded (he's definitely fished it out the trash on more than one occasion after heated arguments with Declan), like it's just been forgotten.

It looks terrible, like it always does: there's a jagged crack running down the middle of the screen and multiple dents all around the bezel, but it still works somehow, miraculously. 

He knows he should just turn it off, but he's curious; maybe Declan's trying to get in touch with him, maybe it's an emergency.

He sits in the chair, sipping on the drink he'd left on his desk before losing touch with the present world and getting pulled into Glendower's, and presses the home button to wake up the phone.

When he sees the latest message notification, he chokes on his fairtrade coffee.

*

He figures it has to be a mistake. There's a logical explanation. It was probably just a wrong number.

But then the whole conversation comes up, and it's been _weeks_ of them. Nearly a month.

All from someone simply saved under a single letter: 'b.'

He scrolls through his contacts, wondering if he's missed anything. There are five entries he already knows are there: his own, St. Agnes' office, Declan, Matthew, 300 Fox Way. And then an unfamiliar sixth: just 'b' with a strange series of digits that doesn't look like any real phone number he's ever seen in his life. _Hmm._

He goes back to the long thread of exchanges with 'b.' There are even racier ones than the last one that made his cheeks burn and coffee go down the wrong pipe ( _i'm touching myself and thinking about your mouth_ ). He tries to avert his eyes as he quickly scrolls all the way back to the top of the conversation and reads the first message: _thanks for the phone xx_. Oh, so that explains it. Not a real number, not a real phone. But who would Ronan _dream a phone for_? 

He knows he should just put the phone back where he found it and pretend this never happened, but it's a mystery. And he's always been a hopeless sucker for a good mystery.

He scrolls down, slower now, ignoring the messages of a sexual nature (and hoping that he develops selective amnesia that wipes his brain of any trace of them), looking for clues of this person's identity.

But the other ones are just as embarrassing, in another way, and mostly void of any useful information:

 _you forgot your sweater when you left this morning, it smells like you_ (Which means he sleeps over, which means nothing, because Ronan hardly ever sleeps at Monmouth these days. He could be anywhere, if not at the Barns or at Adam's.)

 _my bed's too cold, come over_ (Which means...it's winter.)

 _i found your flowers, you're a huge nerd_ (Dream flowers? Which means Ronan's a romantic, apparently.)

 _pick me up after? we can go to our place_ (???)

 _you looked good in latin this morning_ (So, someone from school.)

 _were you drawing my hands while i was asleep?? dork_ (Which means Ronan has a hand fetish.)

 _stop being a dick_ (Which could be from anyone.)

 _i love you, you idiot_ (Which…well, _shit_.)

*

They're sitting in the Pig in the Dollar City parking lot around midnight when he decides to bring it up. Adam's been asleep in the backseat since they left Cabeswater and they've just been cruising around Henrietta in silence after they dropped Blue off. Sometimes, it's good to just forget about the quest for an hour or two and be aimless teenagers. Even he will admit that.

"So, you were just _never_ going to tell me?" he asks, quietly, not looking at him.

"Tell you _what_?"

"About _b_."

He hears rather than sees Ronan do his smoker's exhale, presumably trying to calm himself down.

"Were you going through my phone?" he says, clenching his jaw.

"I didn't — I didn't _mean_ to. It was _buzzing_. Incessantly. And it's not like you locked it or anything. _Anyone_ can look at it."

" _For fuck's sake, Dick_." They both check to see if Adam's woken up, but maybe he can _actually_ sleep through a hurricane. 

Hurricane Ronan seems to be about to make landfall.

"I just — I thought it was just a fling, or something," he continues, knowing he's on very thin ice now, but he can't deny that it hurts to think that Ronan doesn't trust him with this. "But obviously, it's not. You could've _told_ me, you know."

Ronan just stares straight ahead, not blinking.

"It's none of your fucking business," he says, evenly. "Let's just go home."

He sighs. "Okay. Fine."

*

After that, Ronan keeps his phone safely with him at all times and deliberately ignores all questions about his whereabouts. But he notices things more that he did before — the mornings that he turns up looking brighter and happier than he has in a long time; the music that leaks out of his headphones, not his usual terrible electronica fare, but softer and more atmospheric and almost romantic; the way he's racing less and drawing more, and even scribbling things in the margins that almost look like poetry; the fact that he shows up to his classes on time and actually does his homework and hardly ever fights with any of them these days. Maybe he's just healing with time and growing up like Gansey's always wished for, but maybe it's something else, too.

And then one afternoon, the BMW pulls into the parking lot unusually early, and he's surprised and curious and he can't help himself from getting up and going over to the window.

When he looks out, Ronan's not alone. His eyes widen, and he all but presses his nose to the glass.

He can't clearly make out who it is from this distance and his face is currently obstructed as Ronan presses him against the side of the car and kisses him enthusiastically. And then Ronan tilts his body to the side, apparently trying to devour his companion's neck, and Gansey gets a glimpse of the faded Coca-Cola logo on his shirt.

And — _oh_.

It is _ridiculously, insanely obvious_ in retrospect. He's actually an epically huge idiot.

*

"Were you _ever_ going to tell me?" he says, when he's striding towards the BMW fifteen minutes later.

Ronan's leaning against the driver's door, arms and ankles crossed, looking smug. Adam's slightly flushed and his eyes are warier, but there's a giant hickey blooming on his neck that he's not even trying to hide. It would be comical if it wasn't almost, sort of a _complete betrayal_ from the two people closest to him in the world.

"Well, we weren't exactly being _subtle_ , you know," Ronan says, rolling his eyes. "You're just an oblivious moron."

He can't exactly argue that fact right now, but that's _not the point_.

"You were definitely hiding the _secret dream phone_ , though," he says, turning on Adam.

"I dreamt him a phone for _emergencies_ ," Ronan cuts in before he can reply.

"Are _booty calls_ technically classified as _emergencies_ , Ronan?"

"Well. Depends, really," he says, shrugging.

Adam lets out a long-suffering sigh. "We're having sex, okay? It's not a big deal or anything."

"But that's not _all_ ," Gansey says, with a significant look at Ronan.

"Wait," Adam says, like it's just hit him. "Did he _just_ see the dirty ones or —" He looks utterly mortified now.

Gansey and Ronan both stare at him.

"Umm," Gansey starts.

"Oh, God," Adam says. "That's even _worse_." He shoves Ronan's shoulder like it's all _his_ fault that he sent him sappy love confessions via text message that were intercepted by his prying (but concerned) roommate.

"Wait, what's the 'b' for, then?" Gansey asks, narrowing his eyes. "You don't have a secret middle name too, do you?"

Ronan goes a spectacularly bright shade of pink. "Oh, I just — it's just _code_ , you know? It's, uh, something I call him sometimes."

"You saved me under 'b' for _babe_? That's _disgusting_ ," Adam says incredulously, but he looks highly endeared at the same time.

"Honestly, _all of this_ is disgusting. I need brain bleach."

" _Shut up, Dick_ ," they say in unison, and then they grin at each other.

Gansey sighs, but he can't help smiling fondly at them despite himself. "Okay, get in the car."

"Why?" 

"We're celebrating. With ice cream. I'm buying. No arguing."

They just glance at each other, seemingly having a silent eyebrow conversation, and then they follow him to the Pig.


End file.
